A Shot in the Dark
by aohitomi
Summary: Number Six must prove his innocence in a court of nonsense. T for some language.
1. Chapter 1

(Number Six must prove his innocence in a court of nonsense)

Six. Six Sic.

Where am I?

In the village.

What do you want?

Information.

Whose side are you on?

That would be telling...

We want information..._information_..._information_!

You won't get it!

By hook or by crook, we will.

Who are you?

The new Number Two.

Who is Number One?

You are Number Six.

I am not a number; I am a free man!

Laughter

Number six woke up as he always did. His mind felt washed away from the day before. Every day in the Village felt the same. Every day he woke up, had his eggs and pancakes. Tea with lemon. Sometimes Indian, sometimes not. The voice over the radio said the weather would be sunny. Today he went out and grabbed the early edition of the Tally Ho. There seemed to be some urgent news about a crime that had been committed.

The headline read: Number Six Wanted in Murder Investigation.

This was news to Number Six. He hadn't been made aware of the fact that there was a police force in the Village let alone that he had been wanted for murder. He decided to go pay Number Two a visit.

Today's number two was a fat little pug of a man. He was bald, with patches of brown hair on the sides of his head and he wore thick spectacles. He did not seem happy to see Number Six.

"What is going on here? Have I murdered someone today?"

"We shall see," said Number Two. He sat in his round chair, not bothering to get up. "Right now it is simply an investigation. Come. Let us have our morning breakfast chat."

"Already ate."

"Well isn't that a shame. No matter. We will start the investigation early then. Come." Number Two ushered Number Six into a room just outside his oval office. There were scientists mingling with men in striped shirts wearing bobby's hats.

"This is where our investigation takes place."

"You there!" said one of the men who was clearly dressed up as a police officer. Number Six turned around, pretending to try and find a man standing behind him. He gestured as though he had no idea what the man was talking about. He turned his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Who me?" Asked number six.

"Don't be cheeky," said the police officer. He grabbed number six and forced him into a small room with a table and green walls.

"Sit down," the officer commanded. "Our lead detective will be in shortly." And he left the room.

Number Six was left to contemplate the day's events. In the span of less than an hour he had been stripped of his rights, forced into an isolation cell and was now waiting for an investigation into a murder he knew nothing about. He decided it would be better to play along and see where this was all going to.

He pounded the table. "I want to see my lawyer!" He yelled at the walls. He assumed, correctly, that there would be television cameras watching him. "You can't charge me until I see my lawyer!" He banged on the floor, threw his chair against the door. Of course nothing happened. He got tired and sat back down. He had made his point.

An hour passed. Number Six spent the time tracing little circles on the table. Then squares. Then wavy lines. The isolation was starting to get to him, just a little. Not enough to crack anything, or break, but just enough so that he was starting to get a bit irritated.

From the control room, Number Two watched Number Six stew in the isolation chamber. He was waiting for the most opportune moment to make a move. Orr's rule stated that the psychological distress caused by being placed in an isolated small room, could break a man's internal rhythms making it easier for him to be manipulated. The opportune moment could be figured out by a number of factors, all of which were being played out in Number Two's head. There! There! That was just right. He put on a uniform and went to the isolation room. He had not a moment to lose.

Number Six had started to bang his head on the desk. At first he had just started to pretend, but it felt strangely calming. Perhaps he really was losing his mind after all. But in any case the pounding managed to clear his head. The little birdies were also very entertaining.

It was then that the lead detective entered the room. It was Number Two.

"Where were you on the night of October 21st." He banged his fist against the cold hard desk. Speaking as quickly as he could he continued, "Oh you aren't going to answer are you? Aren't you a cheeky little liar. A little bastard. Just a number in a game? You couldn't murder anyone could you? You my friend are a lying piece of scum."

Number Six could barely follow, but he was clear on one point. "I didn't murder anyone. You must have the wrong man." He sat there confidently.

Number Two threw down a photograph. He slapped it on the table. It was a photo of a dead body, grotesque. The body appeared as though it had been snapped in two. "You did this didn't you? Last night. No memories eh? No memories of last night?"

Number Six did in fact have no memories of the night before. Where had he been? Today. "What's today?" he asked.

"Today is the day you're convicted for your crimes. Today is the day you rot, Number Six." He was suddenly unsure. What was today? Perhaps he could not account for the past few days. Everything seemed the same in the Village. It hurt his brain to think about it, so he just let Number Two's words wash over him.

"The body was found next to your home, Number Six. This was a man you used to know." He looked more closely at the picture. Smith. It was Smith. He did know this man. Number Two already knew this fact. But he asked again anyhow. "You did know this man. He was about to betray you to us. He knew why you resigned, and would have told us to get himself out of here, but you wouldn't let him have the chance."

"NO." Number Six stood up. "I would not kill a man. Not ever. Not in the slightest bit did I ever want to kill this man."

"So that was why you resigned then eh? Asked to kill?"

"No!" He sat back down. He put his arms across his chest and sat silently. "No that's not the reason why. And still." Number Two realized he had almost missed his chance.

"Well then we have other evidence against you. We have the bloody fingerprints, the blood on your shoes. You did this. Youdidthisandnowyouwillpay!" Everything Number Two said became quicker and quicker. "Confess, my boy, confess and you will have a much leaner sentence."

But of course, Number Six would not confess. And Number Two was counting on it.


	2. Chapter 2

The time went slowly in the small interrogation room. The fluorescent lights blinked. Once twice. Number Six got up and walked around the room. He touched the walls, floor. Tried to get on the table and touch the ceiling. Then he walked over to the door. As his hand touched it, the door opened slightly. It had all been neatly arranged.

He thought he would take advantage of the opportunity anyhow. If they wanted a spy game they would get their fair share. He snuck down the hall, but it was unnecessary. There was nobody there. What had been a busy police office had now turned into an empty chamber. Nothing moved, except the flecks of light on a computer terminal.

Still he was cautious. After leaving, he walked back through the green dome and out into the courtyard. He was cautious, but realized that if they hadn't come after him now, nobody would bother him. At least not for a few hours, he decided. He traveled back to his house, whistling an old tune from somewhere, and looked around for clues. He wondered, casually, if he could have murdered this man. Smith had been an old trusted friend back when he was still who he used to be. A man with a name and a purpose. Why would he have killed him? The reason was there was no reason, and therefore he hadn't. He was sure of it. And if he was sure, he hadn't.

In the woods behind his house he saw a large red pool of blood thickening in the midday sun. How could this have been done? He moved closer and smelled the pool. It was odd smelling, like a combination of blood and paint, turpentine, vinegar, and lemons. A staged murder. Of course, this was the Village. But who could have done it? He looked around and found, hidden in the bushes, a gold wristwatch.

_Time ticking slowly away. Slowly slowly. Time is all in the mind. mind is time number six. Mind time tick tock tick tock. _

It was engraved with a name: Anderson. But who was Anderson? He remembered the watchmaker and decided to take it over to him. Walking through the Village, he saw men and women of many different numbers stare at him and then turn away in disgust. Apparently they'd never heard of "innocent until proven guilty," he thought. He paid them little mind and arrived at the watchmaker's door. He knocked twice and the door swung open as if pushed by an invisible hand.

"I have a watch here," Number Six explained. "I wonder if you recognize the make of the thing." He handed over the watch and waited for an explanation.

The Watchmaker looked at the watch carefully. He turned it over, shook it and then put it down on the felt above his table. "It's not my work," the Watchmaker said looking through his miniature magnifying glass. "Shoddy workmanship. But I can tell you where the watch came from. It came from America."

Was there anyone in the village from America? Number Six thought about it. Yes there was someone. Number 78. He was a gardener, or at least he was now. And Number Six had counted him as one of the prisoners, and not a warden. He went to pay a call on number 78.

In the observation room, Number Two stood watching the live feed of the cameras near to Number Six. He turned to the Supervisor. "Has he found the watch yet?" He was curious to see if Number Six was following the plan they had set for him.

"Yes of course," the Supervisor explained. "He is proceeding on schedule. The trial should start tomorrow as planned."

"Good! Good!" said Number Two. "That means he should be on his way to see Number 78." He turned back to the screen with a glint in his eye.

And number Six was on his way to see Number 78. But unfortunately for both numbers Six and Two, Number 78 was nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

And Number Six went to the garden and walked around whistling. The camera heads followed him around gazing at him out of the corners of their stone eyes. By this time, Six was quite used to it, though sometimes he had the urge to poke an eye or two out. But 78 was nowhere to be found. A woman in a red striped shirt was pruning flowers nearby.

"Have you seen Number 78?" he asked. She turned to look at him. She was a simple girl, brown hair, hazel green eyes.

"Who?"

"78"

"Ah." She uprooted another weed, tugging its roots from the ground. "He tol me he was taking a vacation."

Number Six scowled. "No one takes a vacation from the Village. You're lying!" He watched as the corners of her mouth twitched when she made a response. She didn't look him in the eye as she spoke.

"That's what he told me. That's what I'm telling you." And she went back to her flowers. Six knew he wouldn't get another response out of the woman even if he shook her silly. So here he was at a dead end.

Number Two looked at the Supervisor. "What did she mean, vacation?" If number 78 was nowhere to be found, they would need to change the plan. "Nobody takes a vacation here." Then horror dawned on him. "Quick. Get to number 78's quarters." A squad of officers ran from the makeshift police office to number 78's house.

Number Six heard the commotion and followed close behind. It seemed as though the procession of officers and civilians was heading in the same direction he was. The thought had occurred to him, maybe the only way to take a vacation in the Village was to hit a dead end. When he arrived at the house he realized that he had been right.

"What?" Number two looked at the screen. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You mean to say he hung himself?" The video snapped to an inside shot of the man's apartment. The evidence was there in plain view. A long rope attached to a ceiling fan. A fallen chair on the floor. It did make a sick sort of sense. America was a country of fierce individualists and Number 78 had been a particularly tough nut to crack, without any actual cracks of course. Difficult, but he hadn't seemed impossible. But now, Two had to change his plan. But perhaps this made it easier. There were no dead ends in the Village. Only detours.

He picked up his green phone and spoke. "Bring Number Six back in for questioning. There's been a change of plan."


End file.
